


And crimson floods beneath my knees

by LynnDenbaum



Series: lynn's messiest GO oneshots in all of history [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Crowley as Starmaker, I made myself sad, I mean seriousely, M/M, No Beta, So much angst, don't read this if you're having a bad day, just sad, no edit, no happy ending, very sad, we fall like raphael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 15:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnDenbaum/pseuds/LynnDenbaum
Summary: In an alternate universe, where nothing goes according to plan there is no happy end. Aziraphale is frozen in place.Guys please read the tags.Please.





	And crimson floods beneath my knees

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags and warnings.

  
  
  
  
  
  
Shortly after the beginning the lights in the darkening sky shone with the intensity of burning cores.  
There were thousands of them, all swirling, whirling, flowing into each other, a millions different colours, a million different emotions, not yet having decided how to build up constellations, how to stay for the rest of eternity, but already programmed to find their way eventually.  
  
Already in progress of finding their place in the skies.  
Aziraphale had watched them from where he stood on the great sandstone wall of the Garden of Eden.  
He had watched them with the fascinated awe of a child, new to the world, curious and nosy, wanting to solve all the riddles and asking all the questions, without being able to understand any of the answers.  
Without grasping them. Without even getting them.  
  
Until this fateful day, when he met a fateful demon and everything started sliding into place.  
Ever so slowly, ever so slightly, secretive, subtle.  
  
_ You are so dumb. You are such a foolish principality. _  
  
Looking back now, Aziraphale realized he had always had a tight bond with the stars. He loved to stare at them, for once, but he had the feeling, they also loved staring at him, too. Into the complexity of his soul, in order to take hold of him, devour him whole and never let him go again.  
In order to possess his mind like they should, like he wanted them to, since the day he knew how they were made.  
By whom they were made.  
  
_ This is all your fault. _  
_ You are to blame. You and you alone. _  
  
He had always wondered where the idea had come from.  
In the blackness of the void, before earth was created, there had only been one light:  
The all embracing sincerity of heaven in all its vast and enormous grace and glory.  
How could someone, who had never really seen things before, who had never experienced anything else than heavens eternal sterility, who had no idea even who they were making them for, how could this person, this angel, how could they design patterns and whirls and undeniable beauty like this?  
Just like this, like it was a walk in the park, that didn’t even exist back then?  
Like it was a snip of their fingers?  
What kind of imagination did someone need to have in order to accomplish a task this extraordinary?  
Exceptional, marvelous, outstanding.  
Remarkable.  
  
_ You did this. You killed him. _  
  
His Crowley, his demon, he was remarkable.  
But of course that was not the sole bar for his greatness.  
He had done so many things over the years that had affected the angel of the eastern gate way more than the creation of the stars.  
Saved his body from discorporation over six times already, always popped up uninvited, to make a uncomfortable situation easier or at least easier to handle emotionally and in one memorable occasion, he had saved Aziraphales books of prophecy, of which he had always been quite proud.  
The drinks they had shared, the meals the redhead had took him to.  
All the times they had laughed with one another, all the times they had just enjoyed each other's company, without admitting it even to themselves.  
All those times…  
  
_youyouyouyou. Your fault alone. You alone. Youyouyou. _  
  
Aziraphale treasured his partner for so many things, for so many shared memories and moments and “first times” and ideas. He wanted to hold on to every last one of them.  
He wanted to hold in tight and never let go.  
He really wanted to.

  
So why.  
Why, as he was staring down at the red on his hands, at the flowing, wet, sticky crimson beneath his knees, at the rusty waves, combining with the flow of liquid, all flowing, all flooding, all slipping away underneath his pale hands,  
Why was everything he could see, everything he could think about, the soft flirring and swirling of new born stars, shining red and green and blue in a black sky untainted by light pollution, untouched by human machines.  
  
Why did he see the reflection of the lyra constellation in Crowleys amber eyes that were looking up at him full of suppressed pain.,  
why did he hear the splitting of molecules like in the beginning of time in the ragged breathing from the demons throat?  
Why did Crowleys hands, shaking in Aziraphales grip, feel like shooting stars watched from a picnic blanket in the middle of a norwegian forest?  
Why turned everything around him so bloody tranquil, as Crowley, his friend, his partner in crime, his _ everything _ took in a trembling breath and coughed out a soft  
_ “I love you.” _ , before he stopped saying anything at all?  
  
Before he stopped moving, before his hands stopped shaking, before he went still.  
So very still.  
  
_I love you, too! Please don’t leave me! Please, my dear I need you, I treasure you with all I am, with the essence of my soul, with the core of my being. _  
_ I will run away with you, I will never push you away again. You are not too fast, I was too slow, To slow, to slow._  
_ I am sorry. Please. Just… Please!_  
He wanted to shout, he wanted to scream, he wanted to cry  
  
_ Your fault. _  
  
He wanted to punch the floor, to rip the holy dagger out of his demons heart and beg him to move, to speak, to do a _ nything! _  
But he wouldn’t.  
Crowley couldn’t hear him. He was still.  
And Aziraphales world seemed to have gone still alongside him.  
Quiet, hushfull, noiseless, _ lifeless. _  
  
Why did he see the twin stars of alpha centauri before his minds eyes.  
Why couldn’t he move, why couldn’t he act, why couldn’t he do something, anything?  


_ because it is too late. You failed. It’s your fault. You are useless. _

  
He failed and all was lost and Crowley was gone.  
But why couldn’t he cry?  
At least crying should be allowed now, shouldn’t it?  
  
_ You don’t deserve it. _  
  
At least moving, at least throwing himself over his love’s body that was bereft of all life and would be until the end of the world. At least that should be possible.  
  
  
But it wasn’t.  
Aziraphale, principality, angel of the eastern gate, could only sit in numbness and watch the stars swirl in the puddles of red underneath his knees.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I made myself sad and I don't even know why I did this.


End file.
